The Outsiders Extension
by ProblemSleuth
Summary: What is really in Ponyboy's dreams, why are they so bad. This is my first fanfic, so please review and respond


Daniel Friedfeld-Gebaide

Chapter 13

Some authors fear writing a chapter 13, and now I know why.

See, since I did such a good job writing about that event with Bob, Johnny and Dallas, (my English teacher wants to get it published, can you imagine! A greaser like me writing a book,) that she said for extra credit that I can write about another event, and she would change my grade back up to a B. The only problem is that I can only think of one event. My parents' death.

Ever since Johnny and Dallas died those dreams I have, you know the ones I talked about in my "book," have come back with a vengeance. They're even worse then before! I'm even back on the track team fu'gosh's sake, but it still doesn't help. Darry went back to the Doc. He can't explain it.

All the Doc said was, "Sorry kid, but you are on your own now."

You wanna know the worst part. Remember how Two-Bit wanted to know what the dreams were like well, now I can tell him, in complete detail. See, I can remember them now. It turns out the dreams weren't as bad as I thought, they were much, much worse.

The typical dream starts like this, I am back in the house eight months ago. I see Darry and Soda, yacking it up like usual.

I say, "I'm going to go check up on Johnny, see if his parents are letting him back in the house after last night."

"Okay," says Darry, "be sure to put a coat on, it is getting chilly outside."

"Fine," I reply, "Don't act like mom, you are going to college soon, relax."

I start walking to Johnny's house, after stopping by at the lot seeing if he was there. He wasn't, so I wished the best. When I see Two-Bit near, I yell to him, "Hey Two-Bit, what's the news."

He is about to reply when suddenly, we see a car speeding by, the driver obviously drunk. The car is surprisingly doing well, when another car, oblivious to the drunk driver, crosses the street and waits at the light.

"That car at the light seems familiar," I tell Two-bit. He nods in agreement. Then while he nods, the drunk driver rams into the car at the light with so much force, that it crumples the first car and the second car like a bulldozer would. I begin to feel sorry for the second car, when I realize that it's my parents.

I run over as fast as I can, ripping off the jacket so I can go faster without that jacket getting in my way. As I get to the car I see a horrific sight, my parents, lying across each other, dead. I see a shard of glass piercing through them.

Then I flash forward eight months, it's Johnny and me at the lot again. Then, when the Soc.'s come, this time it's not me who they stuff in the fountain, it's Johnny. I can't do anything, 'cause they are beating me up. Also, unlike Johnny I didn't have a switchblade. Then, when they finally stop beating me up, I go check on Johnny. He is half-dead. Then, when I get him out of the fountain, he dies in my arms.

The dream ends with a loud BANG, as I replay Dallas's destructive death by cops. I'm starting to call it "Triple D", or "D cubed". That image keeps replaying over and over in my mind. I usually wake up to the loudest bang my brain can conjure.

The first night this happened, I screamed Bloody Murder until my throat was so raw to even think about the word. I woke up Soda next to me so fast, you woulda thunk I dropped hot coals down my brothers back. Then when Darry came into the room, I was doing a half-sob half wail.

Darry asked, "Ponyboy, are you okay?" I shake my head no. "Is it the dream?" More of a statement then a question, but I still respond nod my head up and down.

"Why was this one so much worse then the others?" Soda remarks. I respond for a half second in an incoherent cry. "What was that?" asks Soda.

I manage to cry out the words, "I relived Mom and Dad's death, thought of Johnny in my place at the fountain, and kept replaying Darry's death in my mind. "Well, at least we finally know what the dreams were," Soda half jokes. He's silenced with a look from Darry.

The dreams go on for a couple of months. Post-traumatic something, the doctor calls it. All I know is that they don't get any better, just different. Then, as yet another week rolls around I get some advice from Two-Bit of all people.

He asks me, "You wanna know how I only dram of Blondes?" He says it seriously, like this was the question that was on my mind. "How," I ask, humoring him. He responds, "Well, since it's in my head, I can control my dreams, just by thinking about it."

I stare, dumbfounded, wanting him to explain further. He see's my look and starts to explain. "What I mean, since it is your subconscious that projects your dreams, all I do is wake up the conscious mind in the dream. I remind myself that it's my dream, so it has to follow my rules. Then I just think about whatever I want to dream about (always blondes, mind you), and it changes to that."

He finishes his speech out of breath, and I say accusingly, "You have been paying attention in school, haven't you?" He says, " It's not my fault, I was drifting off during the lecture, when the guy used me as his example!"

"Yeah, Yeah," I say

"Honest, it's the truth. Scouts honor."

"Two-Bit, you never were a boy scout, and you know it," I reply.

"Doesn't mean that I never stole a handbook. What, don't give me that look, I was trying to impress mom for her birthday by actually behaving around the house. I thought well who behaves better than a –."

I walk away midsentence to go back to the house.

As night falls, I start getting ready to go to bed. I was fearing that Two-Bit's idea wasn't going to work, but was going to try it anyway. As I start falling into my dream, I start this time at the car-crash where my mom and dad died. As I see their corpses, I chant in my head, "This is my dream I control it. So, I say they are not dead." At first nothing happens, so in my head I start chanting, "they're not dead, they're not dead."

I start to begin disbelieving Two-Bit, when suddenly, my mom and dad start to rise out of the car, scratched and bruised like they went to the rumble against the Soc's, but not dead.

My dad pats my back and says, "Son, how would you like to go to the country on a picnic."

The next morning for the first time in a long time, I woke up with a smile on my face.

2


End file.
